Of the Hundred and Eighty-Three
by Aromene
Summary: Dis, on the long road west to Ered Luin.


**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure this one is entirely Tolkien's.**

**AN: I seem to be fated to write a lot of Dis-fic. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but honestly, this is a bit much! However, this missing story bugged me.**

**According to records, when the survivors of Erebor fled to safety it was Thror and Thrain who first led them to the hills in Dunland. At the time there were not many people living in this area and those that were were hardy folk, no doubt because there were so close to the orc-infested regions of the Misty Mountains. It was only after the Battle of Azanulbizar, when Thrain and Thorin returned to Dunland, they led their people to the Ered Luin, seeking to find a home further away from Moria and the death they had witnessed there (specifically Thror's). They settled in the old abandoned dwarven mines that littered those mountains and finally began to prosper for the first time since they had left Erebor. It was then, supposedly that dwarves started to be born again (Fili, Kili, Gimli, Ori, etc.).**

**Summary: Dis, on the long road west to Ered Luin.**

* * *

Thrain's daughter is not in the mountain when the fire drake comes. She is in a conclave with the women of Dale who meet each season to discuss the issues that pertain to the womenfolk of Dale and Erebor. Dis enjoys these meetings. She has few responsibilities outside the mountain. Thorin is heir to the throne, not she, and so her time is better spent at things other than playing at ruling. She is too young yet for there to be a need for her to wed, so she spends her days in what pursuits she can, for the betterment of the women of Erebor and of Dale.

They hear the thunder outside first and the winds that race across the roof of the council house are stronger than anything nature can produce. They can have storms that rage for days in these northern lands, but nothing such as this. Dis and the other women – both dwarven and human – race to the window to see. From there, they see the fire that comes across the forest between Erebor and Dale. They see the dragon approach.

Most of the women panic. But Dis is a daughter of Durin's House and she does not panic. Not even when faced with a dragon. She does not consider what is to come. She considers only safety and the women around her.

They do not have much time, as it happens, to find that safety. Half the city seems to be on fire already and the dragon has focused his ire on them, for now at least. Dis can hear the shudders of buildings collapsing as she herds the womenfolk down from the high room to the cellar levels below. There are already many others there seeking shelter. Above them, a storm is raging and Dis wishes for nothing more than a sword and a chance, but that is not her duty. Not against a fire drake from the north.

Instead, they pass the next hours huddled in a room that may collapse at any moment, until finally the noise eases outside. In the minutes that follow, the silence is almost as deafening. Slowly the survivors emerge into air that is chocked with dust and ash to find Dale in utter ruins. Dis cannot see a single building still standing.

The mayor of the city has come to what is left of the council building, seeking his wife who was huddled below with Dis.

'We must leave. The dragon may return. We must leave this place.'

'Where?' his wife asks, shaking.

'South,' he says, his eyes betraying his fear. 'We will go south.'

Dis cannot go south.

'What of Erebor?' she asks aloud, her voice stronger than she thought possible.

The man looks at her and she can see the tear tracks that spill down his face through the soot and dust that layers his skin. 'The dragon went to the mountain when he finished with us. He has gone inside.'

Dis' heart stops. Suddenly there is no air or sound or anything she needs to live. Her world is gone.

'My people?' she manages to ask.

The mayor approaches her slowly. 'There are already dwarves at our north gate. Perhaps some of your people escaped.'

Dis does not spare another moment to consider this. She clutches her skirts about her and races through the ruins of the city, hurtling over fallen rubble and people, towards the gate. In the distance she can see the gates of Erebor. Except there are no gates any longer.

The mayor was correct. There are dwarves clustered around the still hanging north entrance to Dale. Dozens, perhaps; maybe a hundred. They look as shocked and frightened as Dis is in her heart. She searches frantically through the crowd until – finally – she hears her name called above the noise and confusion.

'Dis!' Thorin's voice rings clear behind her and she turns to find him standing a dozen paces away. Beside him, their father leans his weight on his son. Behind them, sitting propped against a fallen wall is what remains of Thror with Frerin crouched beside him. Dis cannot even conceive of how to deal with her grandfather right now, so she walks calmly to her oldest brother and father and wraps her arms around them.

She lifts her eyes to Thorin's and asks the silent question she cannot find the words for.

She has never seen him so grieved. So frail looking. 'Erebor is gone. The dragon has claimed it.'

She knew the answer already. Instead, she clutches her kin to her because they are all she has left.

'Where will we go?'

Thrain looks as stricken as his children, but he is already mustering himself. Already taking control. 'We will find a new home, daughter. A home safe from creatures of the dark days. We will start anew.'

It will not be that easy, Dis knows. She can see the same knowledge in Thorin's eyes. Together they look to the huddled form of Thror. He is a king no longer. Now he is just a frail old dwarf, half-mad with lust for gold that is no longer theirs to treasure. Wherever they will go, Thror will never be the same. And he will never be able to lead them again.

Thrain already knows this. Dis draws herself away from her brother and father and takes a deep breath. They need to count the survivors. To gather what food and supplies they can before they leave. The people of Dale will be leaving too. It is best not to remain so close to a mountain inhabited by a dragon. He might stir again at any time. Food, water, supplies. Dis focuses on the necessities.

'Are there any others? Did anyone else escape?' she asks.

Thrain shakes his head. 'This is all there is.'

Dis looks around her at the huddled masses. She miscounted before. There are, perhaps, nearly two hundred dwarves clustered around the gate. Two hundred out of the thousands that dwelt in Erebor. Two hundred to start again in a new home.

They will manage.

'I will see what supplies can be gathered. We cannot start today, it is already too late. But on the morn, we must leave. You must decide a place, father.'

Thrain nods. 'West. We must go west.'

'But surely the Iron Hills would be better –' Frerin begins to argue as he approaches from behind. Thorin nods in agreement.

'No.' Thrain looks about them again. 'No, we must make a new home. The dwarves of the Iron Hills may be our kin but they are not of us. We must find a new place. There are mountains enough to the west, to the south perhaps where it is warmer. Far from the northern lands of goblins and trolls and dragons. We will find somewhere to start again. Somewhere to be safe.'

Dis does not think that will be possible, but she does not argue. She agrees that they cannot go east to the Iron Hills. The dwarves there will not receive them, of that she is certain. Not with summer passing and winter coming on. They will be hard hit themselves by the loss of Erebor and the trade routes, especially with Dale. The city of men supplied both dwarven lands with much of their food resources. The Iron Hills can hold no more dwarves this year.

'I will send a messenger to Hein, to tell him what has happened. But the rest of us must leave in the morning. We will make around the Greenwood, to the south to avoid the elves,' Thorin announces.

'Why?' Dis blurts out.

The look on Thorin's face is indescribable. He looks ready to kill as he mutters, 'the elves refused to come to our aid. They have fled and left us to die. We will find no help from them.'

Dis does not argue. She cannot possibly think what to say to the look on his face. And Thrain makes no word of protest at this decision. They will have to take the southern roads around the Greenwood then, to avoid the elven kingdoms and cross south of the Misty Mountains. Perhaps that is what Thrain already intends. It is not Dis' duty to decide these matters. She knows what she must do in the coming months of hard travel. She will see to the food and supplies and organise the survivors as best she can. And when they reach their new home, wherever that may be, she will have similar duties. This is the role she was raised to, and it does not change with the location.

Dis will be strong and stubborn and she will see the survivors through the years that are to come. She will stand beside her father and brothers and be a daughter of Durin's House. As she was born to be.

Thrain does, indeed, decide to take the southern pass. It takes them more than a month of walking to reach the southern reaches of the great woods, skirting around the elven lands to the south into the wide rolling hills of Rohan. Few dwarves have ventured into these lands, though the tales say the Rohirrim are a strong people, famous for their horses.

It is two days in the wide plains before they encounter a patrol. They are stopped and word is sent to their King Fréaláf to ask for leave to pass through their lands. Word returns as quickly as a horse can run, and Fréaláf bids them to abide in the plains for two days while supplies can be sent by wagon to them.

Thrain does not manage to hide his shock at this, but the messenger is an honest warrior and he pretends not to notice this. The patrol helps them to set up camp and share out what food they have.

Dis is amazed by the kindness. The dwarven people of Erebor have long held a friendship with the men of Dale, but to find such generosity in other kingdoms astonishes her. It is clearly so for Thorin, who seems to have adopted a severe level of mistrust of everyone and everything in the month they have been travelling. Dis pretends not to notice, but the fact that Thorin still has heated arguments with Thrain about Thranduil worries her. She can see the slight madness in it that affects their grandfather so.

Thror has not spoken a word since they left the ruins of Dale. Frerin keeps him company, the only one of the family who can seem to bear to be around the old king. Thror eats when he has food given to him. He sleeps when they make camp for the night. But he does not speak, nor seem to hear when spoken to. Dis wonders if he will ever be the same again. Though she is secretly glad that the madness of his last years has fled. The silence is better than that.

Two days later, three wagons roll up to their camp, laden with as much food as the Rohirrim can spare. With winter coming on, it is more than Dis thought possible. They must have good harvest in Rohan, or good trade with Gondor.

There is some cloth as well, amongst the wagons, which is nearly enough to send her into tears. Her summer dress, made for council meetings in Dale, is hardly travel worthy, but she was unable to find anything else when they left the city, except a woman's cloak too large for her. Dis is immensely grateful for the new cloth and she sets to work that night before their morning's departure to sew a crude, but function, skirt to wear over the summer dress. Even this far south the nights are much cooler than they were when they left home. Winter is coming on quickly and it will be much worse before the spring thaws arrive.

There is wool to be had in the wagons too, and over the next weeks, Dis knits a warm sweater for her father and a thick scarf for her brother. For her grandfather, she cannot bring herself to make anything. She wants to slap him and yell at him and tell him that this is – somehow – all his fault, but princess do not do such things, even princesses fleeing their home to become refugees in the wild.

They take their leave of the Rohirrim not long after, though Dis is almost sorry to go. They have been very kind these horse people, and would have welcomed them into their mountain halls to the south for at least the winter. But Thrain is determined to find a new homeland to settle in, so the survivors trudge on across the plains and through the gap in the southern ranges of the Misty Mountains. On the west side it feels warmer, despite the lateness of the year, but they are in wild lands now.

They are in an area called Dunland, as Dis recalls from her childhood lesson. An area once prosperous, but now where few men dwell and few others dare to go.

And then, one day as they march up the west side of the Misty Mountains and Dis can see a light of hope settle in her father and brothers' eyes, Thror starts to speak again.

He does not apologise first, which Dis thinks he should have. She may never forgive him for what he has done. It was his obsession with treasure that brought the dragon to them. Thorin seems to understand that too. When before he was as close to grandfather as he was to father, he is now distant and quick to anger. He does not look at Thror with the reverence he once did.

'We must go back,' is the first thing Thror says, after nearly two months in the wild.

'No,' Thrain tells him. Simply, plainly, forcefully. Thror has not been their king for some time now.

'We cannot abandon Erebor! It is our home! It is all we have!' Thror becomes agitated, nearly begging at his son's feet.

Dis turns away in disgust.

'We have our lives. We have our children. We have no need of gold any longer. That is what you miss most, is it not, father?' Thrain asks; pity in his voice.

Thror does not speak again until their reach their destination and when he does, he apologises then, but that is too late for Dis. And for Thorin as well.

They find the caverns of the Dunland mountains where they believe they should be. This is an area of Middle-earth where dwarves have dwelt before, though it has been left to the wilds for many generations now. There is a race of dark men that they meet, but they are a scattered people with few villages, much less cities.

It is not as cold as Erebor in this middle region of the wide lands, but within a day of their arrival Dis has been put in charge of making a survey of the caverns that still litter the southern reaches of the hills and to assign each surviving dwarven family a place to live. It keeps her occupied for the first weeks. There is work to do to shore up the caves and make new halls, cleaning to be done, and inventory of who survived and what skills they can bring to their new home.

By the time the spring thaw arrives they have cleared the inner caves of the mountains and everyone has somewhere to sleep. They have a forge too, and tools they can use to mine for the metals that litter the peaks.

And they have lost eleven of the hundred and eighty-three dwarves that fled Erebor.

Dis does not cry herself to sleep at night. She sleeps in a room with her brothers, beside Thrain's rooms, and each morning she wakes early with them to start another day and goes to bed often much later than the menfolk. Thorin and Frerin have his own duties to attend to, but Dis' keep her out much longer. She spends what time she can with the other dwarven women, helping with sewing and knitting and building furniture. When spring comes, she helps to plant gardens as well to grow the root vegetables that accompany the meat diet that dwarves eat. She goes hunting as well, once the warriors that are left determine the lands around are safe enough.

But above all, Dis stays strong. For her brothers, for her father, her grandfather and for her people. They need their princess-in-exile to be their guiding star and Dis is only too glad to fulfill that role. Together, she and her family will build a new life in these wide western lands. They can start again and be better this time. Dis will not allow gold to fill their new halls or darken their hearts. She will not allow her people to suffer again.


End file.
